Watching, a tiny girl child sits on the curb
Her white hair glowing in the sun
Her little face so curious
Watching families entering the House of Our Lord

She watches them, none pause or look at her
No one smiles, reaches out or invites her
The door to the House of Our Lord is closed
The street is empty, she leaves her post

She wishes she could go to that mysterious place
Her mother's face softens, she nods her head
Trembling with excitement, she is dressed
Led to the door, alone, she enters

Someone meets her, decides Sunday school is best
To which she returns, week after week alone
She listens to stories of Baby Jesus
Colors pictures, learns some prayers

She hears stories of missionaries
In foreign lands caring for children there
Thinking of thos neglected small children
She decides being a missionary is the only thing

Declaring her intentions in Sunday School
She is warmly encouraged to stay to study
Her mother is visibly upset
She tells her how silly she is

In another week, the family moves, again
No time to say good-bye, no time for Sunday School
She mourns the comfort, the warmth she felt there
She cries for the little children she'll never help

Why does God let those little children suffer, she asks
Why does he let her parents move away
Why, if he is so kind, doesn't he watch over babies
Why does he let children be unhappy

Soon other problems loom in her life
Problems making her forget Sunday School
In the back of her mind, she tucks the God question
Today, she has more pressing problems to solve

Another house, another school, unfamiliar faces
Mom and Dad arguing night and day
She doesn't understand the anger
The hatred that permeates their home

Mommy cries, Daddy walks out
Life is a series of turmoil
Another day, another argument
Shouting, tears, children holding each other near

Every day, arguing, fighting
Mommy screaming, Daddy's face so angry
Stalking to the porch, he reaches high
From the open rafters, a gun appears

Now, Daddy is crying, Mommy, too
Two small girls rush forward
Leaving the safety of their hiding place
Sobbing, they grab Daddy's arm

Don't shoot Mommy, please don't
We'll be good, we'll do whatever you want
The gun comes down, Daddy sinks to his knees
He gathers the girls into his embrace

He sobs as though he is wounded
Holding his children close
Another sad moment comes to an end
And, she wonders, why, God, why?